


A Secret Exchange

by Skullharvester



Series: One-Shots (Baldur's Gate 3) [9]
Category: Baldur's Gate, Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types, baldur's gate 3
Genre: Fluff, M/M, cleric - Freeform, vampire
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-17 10:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29715927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skullharvester/pseuds/Skullharvester
Summary: Growing increasingly fond of Abdirak, eccentric priest of Loviatar, Elganon, a half-elven apothecary, continues to stay in touch with the man, even when they're far apart.
Relationships: Abdirak (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s), Astarion (Baldur's Gate)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: One-Shots (Baldur's Gate 3) [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2120211
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	A Secret Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> While I'm simultaneously working on my other projects, I wanted to write another short, comfy intermission one-shot. I haven't played Patch 4 yet, but my excitement for it made me miss writing stuff involving Elganon. I've mostly had some other characters and ships on the mind lately. (I'll probably add a screenshot later, once I've got some newer ones when I can get the patch downloaded and start playing Elganon again.)
> 
> Enjoy and have fun!
> 
> If you liked this tale, please drop me a kudos and/or a comment to let me know if you'd like to see more!
> 
> Thank you, and have a wonderful night!

I think I do like pain. But it's not the same pain that Abdirak is obsessed with. My body's covered with injuries, and I get hurt every day, whether it be from letting Astarion feed off me or constantly bumping into things and bruising myself. I bruise so easily…

It's the emotional pain that I like. I tell myself that I hate it, but I'm torn. It hurts so badly, but I'd be lying if I didn't admit that it gives me a rush.

But I think that Abdirak is trying to get _away_ from the emotional pain. It's the one type of pain that I'm not sure he can handle, and likewise, I struggle so much in dealing with physical pain. I wish we could both learn each other's secrets. Perhaps if we could, we might find some sort of inner peace. Isn't that the idea?

I'm afraid that I still don't really understand Loviatar's teachings, but I wonder if the clerics might be just as confused. We're all only mortal, and the gods don't answer to us, so what better can we do than to fumble around in the dark, searching for answers?

I can't stop thinking about Abdirak. I don't think Astarion suspects he's even on my mind because as far as he's aware, we've both stopped going to the temple and have moved on to other things. We made love with a noblewoman and her friend in one of the rooms at one of the local inns, and it was alright, I guess. But I'm eager to see Abdirak again. By myself.

I feel guilty for not telling Astarion about seeing him a few nights ago. I usually tell Astarion everything about my, er, solo encounters. With other people, I mean, but yes, also when I masturbate when he's not there to help me. 

Anyways, the bit where I relay to Astarion what I got up to is supposed to be the main point of this "open relationship", I guess it's called. I tell him what I got up to, then I show him, and we have an incredibly fun time reenacting it all together, if that's even physically possible, given whatever the story may entail. Astarion does the same with his flings, though there are some where I wish he’d spare me the details.

But, regardless, I didn't tell him about having oral sex with Abdirak on the cot in the apothecary's back room. I don't know why, but I wanted to keep it a secret to myself. What happened there was between me and Abdirak, and no one else—that much I knew. 

Maybe I wanted to spare Abdirak from the feeling of being treated like an idle amusement. After the last time I met with him, I could tell that upset him. I wish I’d known sooner, though he might’ve not realized that bothered him until more recently. Who knows?

Romantic love turned out to be way more complicated than I anticipated. It’s not at all like what people tell you it’s supposed to be like. Not if you’re being honest with yourself, anyway. It’s weird. But then again, I suppose I’m weird, too.

Damn. I forgot that Abdirak was going out of town for a little while; I was going to go see him at the temple again today while Astarion was away for a few hours.

I suppose after I finish tending to the herbs and fungi down here in the cellar, I’ll spend the afternoon upstairs in my room. Orebos is in a particularly foul mood today since the tax collector came around to get what we owed, and I’d rather avoid getting nagged at all day long. The simplest way to go about that is to just lock myself up in my room, like always.

I’m a grown adult now, and I’m still letting that bitter old duergar treat me like a child! Oh well… He _did_ raise me, and he gives me a place to stay, food to eat, and a job that he _sometimes_ pays me for. Things aren’t as bad as they could be. I’m not living out on the streets, for one. And I _do_ love Orebos, in a familial sort of way, even though he’d never let me call him my father.

I’m so fed up with everything. I thought it was all going to be different when I went on this grand adventure, but here I am back where I started. I wonder if I’ll ever get away from Baldur’s Gate, or if I’m going to die here.

It’s probably the spores from the fungus that’s making me feel so addled right now. Most of these specimens are from the Underdark, so they’re as dangerous as they are beautiful.

Alright, I think that’s me done. I’m going upstairs and clearing my head. It’s a sunny enough day outside to open up my window, so I’ll be able to get a breath of fresh air. I can only hope that the streets don’t smell like heated rubbish today…

When I get up to my room (it’s such a long climb to the top of the tower), I think for a moment about kicking all the stuff laying on the floor out of my way to get to the window unimpeded, but after I trip over a pair of trousers that Astarion left on the floor and bang my head against the floor (I’m alright, but there’ll be a lump on the back of my head tomorrow, probably), I decide to take a moment to clean the room up a little.

Every time Astarion and I agree that we’re going to do something about all of this junk, somehow, one of us keeps bringing more odds and ends back. To be fair, I think it’s mostly me doing it, but Astarion isn’t helping, either. Who needs _this_ many combs?

Ah, well, I’ll just put them in the box where I keep my necklace collection. I don’t often wear necklaces; I usually forget to put one on, but they’re so pretty, and I _would_ make use of them more often if only I could just remember to put one on whenever I got dressed.

I guess I could put one on now…

No, maybe tomorrow; it’s a bit late to bother with it now. I’ll remember tomorrow, surely. I’ll even leave a note for myself as a reminder, once I get around to organizing all these older memos on my desk from the previous days. I keep forgetting to take them with me after I get ready in the mornings…

Anyway, I’m done cleaning, for now. I’ll get back to it later.

I go to the window and pull on it, but it’s stuck. By the time I get it to budge, I’m exhausted. All that just to get a window open! I wish I weren’t so weak. It would’ve been easier if Astarion were here, but he’ll be gone for quite a while longer.

To trick myself into thinking it actually smelled pleasant outside (Surprise! The streets smell horrible again because of course they do! Why did I expect anything different this time?), I light an incense stick on the table next to me before dragging my chair closer to the window.

Ow! Hells!

I hate when my eyes have to adjust to the bright sunlight; I’m so used to being in dark places. This is why I prefer nighttime. Living with someone from the Underdark does that to you. 

I may as well have been born a drow, or at least a half-drow. I wouldn’t want to live in the Underdark, though. It’s a gorgeous place, but extremely dangerous. I wouldn’t have made it there, honestly. I was lucky to make it out of there alive as a visitor!

Lowering my arm away from my face, I can slowly start to make out what’s outside. It’s all a dark blur at first, but the scenery is fading in. There aren’t many people out today, so the streets aren’t very loud. If they were, I would’ve shut the window again. Loud noise irritates me far too much, and I can’t stand it. My ears are very sensitive. Orebos calls me fussy, but I can’t help how I am.

There are a few street vendors set up at this time of day; they’re usually the ones that couldn’t get a space at The Wide or didn’t want to travel to that part of the city to sell their wares. I don’t blame them; Astarion loves to shop there, but the crowdedness of the area makes me anxious when I remember that it’s not only the two of us there. 

I’m glad that the apothecary is in a relatively quiet spot in the city. It’s horrible for business, but it’s good for my nerves. Hardly anyone shops here! It’s great!

I think I recognize the bird that perched itself on the windowsill. Her name’s Goldie, but she’s really more of a brownish color to me. She’s very nice, though. Not many of the birds here are nice like she is. 

Most of the birds I’ve met in the city are rude and like to stick their beaks into everybody’s business. They don’t have much respect for our monuments, either. Whatever happened to that statue of the ranger hero Minsc, anyway? The last time I went to The Wide, it was gone. Perhaps it got moved after it was vandalized.

“Hi, Goldie,” I say to the bird when she hops closer to me. 

I wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk or if she was only interested in the birdseed trapped in the cracks of the windowsill. No wonder the window got stuck; I had no idea I’d dropped some in there.

“Evening, Elganon,” she says before going back to picking at the stray seeds. “Got any more of this stuff?”

“I think so.” Twisting in my chair, my eyes dart around the room. I don’t even know where I’d begin to look for that pouch of seeds that I had leftover from my time at the druid grove. “Let me check.”

I practically undo all the cleaning I did earlier by rummaging through every corner of the room searching for the bag. So many things back onto the floor, but finding the pouch makes the mess worthwhile. I’ll clean it up later.

Opening the leather bag, I set it down on the windowsill. Goldie can have as much of the seeds as she wants; I doubt she’ll eat them all by herself in one sitting. Some of the seeds, I noticed, were sprouting, so it’s best to do something with them before I end up with an entire garden growing in my bedroom. It’s cluttered enough in here as it is.

“You look like you have something on your mind today,” Goldie mentions, taking her head out of the bag as she smacks her seed-coated beak.

I keep my eyes focused on what’s going on outside, propping my head upon my arm with my elbow leaned against the windowsill. “I don’t know if I should talk about it.”

Goldie nudges the bag of seed in my direction as an offering to cheer me up, and I smile.

“No thank you,” I tell her.

“Suit yourself.” She shrugs her wings. “But I’m listening, if you change your mind.” Her head dives right back into the bag.

Is it wrong that I often treat animals as my therapists? I know many people do, but they usually can’t commune with animals as I do. It’s a little more awkward when you can understand them when they say something back to you. 

People always assume that a bark or a meow or a tweet is a positive affirmation, but sometimes they’re really telling you to shut up and get over it; like people, some animals are plain mean. I never have the heart to tell pet owners what their beloved animals are actually saying to them because they might not like what they hear, and the pet may swiftly find itself without a home.

“Goldie, do you remember that priest that comes by here sometimes?” I ask.

Seed splashes everywhere when her head pops back up, and some of them stick to her feathers. “How could I forget?” she grumbles. “He makes such a racket that I’ve taken to perching elsewhere when I see him walking towards the tower. He doesn’t come by as often as he used to, though, does he?”

I shake my head no, then hesitate as something else crosses my mind. “…I hate to ask this, but would you mind taking a letter to him for me? He’s gone elsewhere for a while to spread Loviatar’s teachings, and I want to make sure he’s been safe so far on the road.”

“Do I look like a carrier pigeon to you?” Her head tilts this way and that, glaring at me irritably.

“I know you’re not, Goldie, but there’s no one else that I could ask to do this for me. You’ve got family you haven’t seen in some time near the Friendly Arm Inn, don’t you? You could visit them while you’re in the area; I’m sure Abdirak has stopped to rest there by now. And you can have more seeds when you get back. Bring the whole family home with you, in fact! There’s plenty left, as you can see.”

“Well, there’s not enough for my _whole_ family—I can promise you that—but…” She considers my plea, and I give her plenty of time to. “Alright, fair enough. I _would_ like an excuse to get out of the city for a few days. Reconnect with proper nature, and all that.”

I stroke the top of her head appreciatively with my finger, then go to my writing desk to jot down a quick letter. My writing ends up smearing underneath my hand in my haste to put my thoughts down as fast as I can to avoid annoying Goldie any further; she’s already doing me a kind favor and I don’t want to burden her more by making her wait all day on me to finish.

With a few shakes of the parchment after I’ve finished writing, I think I’ve gotten the ink to dry well enough. Looking around on my desk for something to tie it to Goldie’s leg with, I’m reminded that Abdirak left his armband here. It has metal barbs in it, but if I tie it correctly, it won’t hurt her.

“What in Hells is that thing?” she asks when she sees the armband once I return to the window.

“It’s just an accessory,” I explain, holding it up. “Do you mind if I use it to secure the letter to your ankle? It belongs to Abdirak, and he’s probably wondering where it went to.”

“I dunno. Looks pretty wicked.”

“It’ll be fine.” 

I’m not really sure if that’s true, but I have to try, if I want to get this thing back to him before I forget again that I have it. So, I first wrap the letter around her leg as padding, then wrap the armband over it.

“What do you think? Not too heavy, is it?”

Goldie jumps around on one foot, eyeing the band around her other leg. “I kind of like it, actually. I could probably put out some eyes with this; it’s like having extra talons.”

I laugh. “Please don’t do that; if it got traced back to me, people would think I’m sending out bird assassins. People are suspicious of me enough as it is.”

“I wouldn’t, I wouldn’t,” she assures me. “But I can think about it, can’t I?”

“Goldie…”

“I’m joking. Anyway, I guess I’ll be off, then. Be back in a few days, I imagine.”

“Alright.” I give her a wave goodbye. “Safe travels, and thanks again for doing this for me.”

“I’d say ‘anytime’,” she begins while flapping her wings in preparation for takeoff, “but then you’d probably ask me to do this _all_ the time.”

Small, loose feathers scatter from her little frame as she shoots into the air and flies away, dipping awkwardly at times throughout her flight path from the weight of the metal pieces on the armband.

Now I have to wait however long for Abdirak’s response, assuming that I’d get one at all.

* * *

The first correspondence comes quicker than expected, but I’ll wait until Astarion goes out hunting for blood before bringing out the letter to read what it says.

Once I’m sure that Astarion isn’t going to come back to the tower to fetch something or other that he’s forgotten to take with him for his outing, I hurry to dig out the letter and the red rose that was sent along with it from my desk’s top center drawer.

Thankfully, the rose isn’t damaged from being stuffed in there, but I do notice something about it that I hadn’t before: it’s actually a white rose that’s been turned red by blood. How strange! I hope this isn’t Abdirak’s blood, but it probably is. I wonder if this is a common ritual to express appreciation for followers of The Maiden of Pain. Regardless, it’s a sweet, if morbid, gesture.

Setting the rose aside, I unfurl the letter across my desk. I realize now why Astarion got mysteriously antsy while he was in the room with me earlier; he must have smelled the faint traces of blood and couldn’t discern where it was coming from. Even the letter was _written_ in blood. It shouldn’t surprise me, but sometimes the extent of Abdirak’s conviction concerns me.

It must have taken a lot of blood to write a letter this long, but I’m glad that Abdirak took the time to do all this for me; it takes a weight off my mind, having this much detail about his journey so far.

He nearly got jumped by a group of men at the Friendly Arm Inn, until the owner broke up the tension and reminded everyone that the inn welcomed all walks of life, so long as that folks could behave while they were there. Interestingly, one of the men later met with Abdirak secretly in his room at the inn that night and asked how he could become a convert. I don’t know what Abdirak could have said to make his peculiar religion seem so enticing to this fellow.

Ah, some of this blood belongs to that man, evidently. His must be the lighter shade in this middle section of the letter.

The new convert is following Abdirak to Beregost. Once they arrive there, they’re going to stick around for a while, but then they’re headed to Nashkel, if they can make it there. It’s a long way to Nashkel.

When I write my reply, I’ll have to ask Abdirak to stop by the carnival for me, if he gets the chance, assuming that it’s open this time of year. I’ve always wanted to go there myself. Do they have clowns at the carnival? Maybe he can tell me.

I’ve always heard that many other people are deathly afraid of clowns, but for some reason, they’re one of the few things that I’m _not_ unsettled by. They look friendly to me. I like them.

Come to think of it, could there be any clowns that worship Loviatar? What would that even look like?

I start snickering to myself more than I should at the mental images I conjure up thinking about it. I must be delirious, having not slept well the past few nights.

The more I dwell on it, though, the more I start to see why clowns could be a little scary. I should stop thinking about it before I ruin clowns for myself.

Anyway, Abdirak seems incredibly happy that I wrote to him. He’s as enthusiastic in writing as he is in person, both in what he writes as well as the way in which he does it; his handwriting strikes me as eager rather than rushed, as my letter was. I don’t think his fellow clergy at his temple have been writing to him since he left. It’s probably because his excitability is a lot to take in for most people, but it’s been growing on me, admittedly. 

He and I aren’t so different; we both just want someone to talk to about our passions. Astarion usually listens to most of what I have to say, but I can tell when he starts to get irritated; he gets that look on his face, where his eyes narrow and he shifts his jaw with his teeth clenched. That’s how I know when to stop talking and give his ears a rest. I don’t blame Astarion; I know I get too clingy sometimes.

My eyes are attracted to the rose’s thorny stem when I consider how I’m going to respond to Abdirak’s letter. Goldie won’t be happy that I want to send him another letter, but she said she had fun on the first trip and made some new friends along the way. She might not mind another trip if I compensate her well enough for going all the way out to Beregost.

Maybe she’ll even consider forming her own adventuring party like the one I have. Do birds go on adventures like that with each other? The common kind of birds, I mean, not the humanoid sort. I never thought to ask. If so, does that mean that there are little avian wizards and clerics?

What was I doing again? Oh, right. The letter.

How hard could it be to write a letter in blood? I think Abdirak would appreciate the gesture. It shouldn’t hurt too much, either. It’s only a tiny prick on the finger.

I pick up the rose carefully by the stem and turn it around in my hand, looking for a small thorn. I don’t want it to hurt too badly; it won’t be like Astarion’s fangs, where there’s an icy feeling that numbs some of the pain.

Intentionally getting hurt is a lot more difficult when I’m the one who has to do it. I hover my finger above a tiny thorn, but I can’t bring myself to press down on it.

Do it really fast and get it over with, I tell myself.

Ah! That really hurt! My hand’s shaking, and more blood than I expected would come out is dribbling onto my fresh parchment. It’s making a mess, and now teardrops are staining the paper, too.

At this rate, I’ll be sending him an abstract watercolor painting! Argh! I’m an idiot.

I try to calm down and use my finger as a quill, but hardly anything is coming out anymore. Seriously? Am I really this unlucky?

I’ll have to prick myself again. I’d rather not, but I’ve already done it once; I may as well get on with it and finish what I started.

I can’t help but laugh at how silly I feel, doing all of this for a simple letter. If Astarion saw me, he’d be embarrassed for me. And he probably wouldn’t stop trying to suck the blood off my finger.

The next few times I have to re-poke my finger, it’s horrible and I can’t hold back my tears any more than I could the first time. I hope that Abdirak will be able to read this once I’m finished; all my crying has made some of the letters on the page run.

My index finger on my dominant writing hand stops producing much blood when I stab it, so I switch to using the tip of my ring finger. The pain eventually dulls as I adjust to writing like this. Abdirak must have an easier way of doing this, so I mention in my reply that I’d like to know how he does it. I might not want to know, but I find myself curious in spite of my fear of the answer.

I use most of the parchment’s space asking him about the world outside of Baldur’s Gate more so than I tell him what’s going on back here. I do miss the city when I’m away from it, but when I’m here, I begin to remember quickly all the things that I don’t like about it. Considering how often Abdirak travels, I imagine he feels similarly, since many clerics seem to never leave their temples at all.

The days pass by faster since I’ve started writing him. It feels like we’re sending letters back and forth constantly, when I know that it takes some time for Goldie to exchange the messages. Granted, our communications have been putting me in a better mood lately, so the days are less sluggish to me. Time goes by slower for me when I’m feeling gloomy, and I’m always feeling gloomy.

* * *

One night, I walk in on Astarion reading my half-finished letter that I left on the desk while I went downstairs to help Orebos tend to a difficult patient. Astarion must have snuck past me after coming home early without warning. 

What am I going to do now? And why is Astarion grinning while he’s reading my letter? Shouldn’t he be furious?

I should have turned myself invisible with magic, although he would have guessed it was my footsteps leaving in a sudden hurry. Non-magical doors don’t open and close by themselves, and no one but him and Orebos ever knocks on my door. Orebos wouldn’t be so timid about making an entry; if anything, he’d kick the door down without knocking and bluntly state his business.

Astarion motions for me to come inside, and I slip between the crack in the open door, shutting it behind me with my back leaned against it. He beckons me again, expecting me to come closer, so I do.

“That’s…that’s my letter,” I stammer, holding my hand out and expecting to get it back, but he won’t give it up until he finishes reading what I’ve written in it so far.

“It took me a moment to recognize the name of the person it’s addressed to,” Astarion confesses. “The priest, right? From the goblin fortress?”

“Yeah, he sent me a letter.” The lie tumbles out of my mouth before my conscience has a chance of advising me to be honest. It was I who wrote Abdirak first, but I made it sound like he started our correspondence.

“Several, from the looks of it.” Astarion opens one of the drawers on my desk, showing me the stack of letters that I already knew were there. I should’ve hidden them better.

There’s an ill feeling in my stomach. “Oh, you…already read them?”

“I’m a fast reader.” Astarion’s grin broadens, showing teeth.

“Are you mad at me?” I ask with a frown tugging at my face.

He looks at me incredulously. “No, why would I be?”

“And you’re not jealous?” I walk nearer to him, touching my shoulder to his side, and he puts an arm around me.

“A little,” Astarion admits, shrugging before he bends down to kiss my cheek. “And here I thought you disliked that priest,” he teases. “What do you see in him, anyway? He’s a freak!” He laughs.

“ _You’re_ a freak!” I say, in jest, chuckling with him. “That’s why I like you.”

“Likewise.”

Astarion lowers his head again to kiss me on the mouth, slowly and sensually. I put my hands on his chest and lock my lips with his, encouraging the kiss to linger.

He casts the letter over his shoulder, letting it flutter to the ground. I would be annoyed by his carelessness normally. What if my message flew out the open window and got lost? But I can’t be mad at him; I love him.

Now he’s pushing me, carefully, back towards our bed until I fall onto it with him coming down with me, keeping our lips connected. He loosens the thread in my shirt and kisses down to my navel, licking it and making me giggle. I hate when he does that because I’m oddly ticklish there, but he does it anyway to tease me.

He strips off my boots and pants, then crawls onto the bed to let me undress him and tells me that it’s cute when I fumble with the removal of his clothing. I can’t help it; sometimes my fingers are too soft to get a good grip on the fastenings of his doublet and his belt doesn’t always come off easily. He has to help me with one of his boots because I can’t get it off myself and neither one of us wants me to dislocate his leg by accident.

I climb on top of him to go down for another kiss and he immediately cups my backside in both hands, squeezing firmly. I’m glad that he’s home; now that we’re naked together like this, it becomes apparent to me how much I needed to feel him, and he likes it that I warm him up with my body when he comes inside from the cold. Vampires apparently never entirely get used to the sensation of being dead. It must feel strange indeed.

Astarion flips me over and brings his hands up to mine, entwining our fingers together while he rubs against me with his hardening length. I’d completely forgotten to craft more lubricant, and I think he knows that, so we’ll have to do things this way for tonight. Not that I mind that, of course. It’s fun when we play around like this for sexual gratification.

Turning us onto our sides, he’s careful about not creating too much friction when he slips his penis between my thighs, stroking underneath my scrotum with it. The slight chill makes me shiver but in a pleasant way. I reach down to adjust my genitals before squeezing my thighs together around his shaft, and he moans into my ear and licks along the edge of it.

I keep my hands upon my own growing erection, unable to stop touching it once I’ve started. Astarion reaches down to help me; his fingers are longer than mine and the pads of his fingertips feel really nice when they run along the little veins in my phallus. Meanwhile, my own fingertips are stroking the weeping head where precum has started leaking out and running down the slit.

My eyes lock with Astarion’s bright crimson ones while we make love, and we’re looking at each other face-to-face in abject awe. His mouth is open, breathless, as he watches me pant and sigh in reaction to his gentle caresses. I bring my free hand up to my chest and fondle my right nipple, rolling it with my fingers while I wiggle my hips, thighs still clenched together. 

Regardless of how cold Astarion’s penis is, I can feel it pulse between my legs despite the lack of a heartbeat in him. I’ll never stop wondering how it does that. Is it a side-effect of the mindflayer tadpole in our brains, or is it some kind of illusion of life that vampires create to assist in their art of seduction for feeding purposes?

On the note of feeding, Astarion starts grazing my neck with his fangs, but I’m not in the mood to be drank from tonight; I’m sore and weary from yesterday and I hadn’t taken a healing potion yet to recover my vitality quicker, as I usually do.

So, I wrestle with him to keep his teeth away. He’s stronger than me, but I think he’s going easy on me for the sake of making a game out of it. I can tell that he believes that I’m just playing hard to get.

“Didn’t you eat while you were out tonight?” I ask as we roll around on the bed, fingers locked back together again.

“I did, but I’m still a little hungry,” he replies, laughing.

His hands let go of mine, and he makes an effort to grapple me while I try to slither out of his grasp.

“Stop it!” I’m smiling and laughing now, too. “You’re tickling me!”

“One sip?” he asks. “Please, dear?”

“No!” I answer between giggles, squirming against him.

Between his tickling and my genitals rubbing on his body, I can’t handle it. There’s a confused, mixed feeling in my own body, and it’s difficult to figure out what it is until the unexpected happens.

I thought I was about to come, but I end up…

Gods, this is embarrassing. I really don’t want to say it.

I think I’ve urinated on him a little?

It takes him a while to notice because I’m afraid to be the first one to mention it. Honestly, I was hoping he wouldn’t look down at all and would instead make the assumption that I came.

“Darling, did you just…” He’s shocked, and frankly, I’m mortified at what’s happened myself.

“I’m sorry! It was an accident! I didn’t even think that was possible!”

“And you say _I’m_ the one who’s a freak?” Astarion shakes his head. He almost touched the part of his abdomen where I…you know, but he’d rather not dry himself off that way, which is fair enough.

“I said I’m sorry!” I tell him again. “Besides, it was only a little that came out!”

“Oh, well, in that case, thank you for not emptying your _whole_ bladder on me, I guess.” He rolls his eyes sarcastically, doing that thing where he’s grinding his teeth. “Get me something to dry myself off with. Hurry. This is disgusting.”

I almost trip on the bedsheet that’s drooped over the edge of the bed when I clamber out of it. “How is that far grosser than when I ejaculate on you? It’s almost the same.”

He slams his fist on the mattress and picks up the rag that lands on his chest when I toss it to him. “It’s not at all the same!” he insists, drying himself off while his tongue is stuck out in revulsion.

“It’s more or less the same,” I retort, pulling my trousers back on. Luckily, I didn’t get any urine on me, so I don’t have to worry about my pants getting wet.

“Well then let me do it to you!” he demands.

Standing with only one leg inside of my trousers, I leap out of the way when he throws the soiled rag back to me, and it hits the floor. I’m relieved that I didn’t go down with it since I nearly lost my balance again. “Vampires can’t piss, Astarion!”

“How do _you_ know that?! Why don’t we test out your theory, if you think you’re the expert on that subject?” He leaps out of bed and chases after me while I’m still trying to get my pants back on.

This is so stupid and childish. Why are we doing this?

We run around the room together, likely waking up all our traveling companions who are resting in the other bedrooms in the tower with all our stomping, and we’re knocking stuff over everywhere in our circular path. I can never keep my room clean because of situations like this.

Worst of all, the massive window in my room is wide open, so anyone outside who’s awake at this hour can see two naked idiots scrambling around on the top floor.

Whatever. My life’s a disaster, anyway. No one expects better of me in this city—the few people who know of me, that is.

It’s actually kind of funny, I have to admit.

But I’m not going to mention this incident at all in my current letter to Abdirak. I don’t want him to get any weird ideas about me. Weirder ones, at any rate…

Though I’d like to trade more knowledge with Abdirak, once he gets back, I think some knowledge is better kept a secret.

**Author's Note:**

> "I'll pretend that I'm kissing the lips I am missing and hope that my dreams will come true. And then while I'm away, I'll write home every day, and I'll send all my loving to you."
> 
> Recommended Listening: All My Loving by The Beatles


End file.
